


Miss The Sun

by ShadowyStar



Series: Karma [2]
Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: Damien is a microbiologist, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Reincarnation, Sad, did I mention sad?, don't read if graphic descriptions of pulmonary diseases trigger you, why it's a bad idea to tame the fae, written and posted first ages before Covid-19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28677501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowyStar/pseuds/ShadowyStar
Summary: 'In their next life they meet only once, briefly, as kindergarten children.' Karma
Relationships: Gerald Tarrant & Damien Vryce
Series: Karma [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842019
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Miss The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own the Coldfire trilogy. It belongs to C.S. Friedman. I do own this story. Characters, places, situations, locations and organizations not appearing or being mentioned in the books are also mine. Do not archive or translate or otherwise use without permission. 
> 
> A/N: Second installment in the Karma series.  
> Also done to show some major disadvantages of Taming the fae on a planet like Erna.

* * *

He knew he was dying.

Even if one were to ignore the coughing fits steadily growing worse, the also rising fever and the dark blood on his handkerchief were a dead giveaway.

The sad thing was that he didn't mind. It should've bothered him – after all, no one wanted to die at the age of thirty-two, and it wasn't that he _wanted_ to. He just didn't care.

The only thing he cared about was whether or not the bacteria colony currently under the lens of his tattered microscope had grown overnight. He adjusted the focus and tried to blink away the thick black veil of exhaustion. When it did nothing to clear his sight, he rubbed at his eyes, pressing the heel of one hand against his temple to try and quell the headache. Not now, he pleaded with the infection currently filling his lungs with fluid and raging through his body. Not yet.

For a moment, the book- and equipment-lined walls were replaced with a brightly lit summer park, filled with children's laughter and sheer joy.

…A touch of wind to his cheek carried the sweet scent of nu-jasmine…

…Light, filtered through green leaves, turned the sand beneath his feet into an ever-changing mosaic…

…Somewhere a girl proudly proclaimed to another how she'd managed to stay on the bike this time…

…Small fingers wrapping themselves around his own, slightly larger ones... Large green eyes looking up, right into his own... A shorter build, as it should be, seeing that he was five already, and the other boy was what? Four? ... A very young voice, asking “Would you be my friend?”…

Vivid hallucinations. His heart clenched in pain that had nothing to do with the infection. He concentrated and willed his eyes to see reality instead of illusion, forcing his fogged brain to work. Yes, don't forget hallucinations. They were a dead giveaway, too. He leaned forward to add them to his symptom sheet and blinked in brief confusion. Oh. Apparently he'd done so already. Yesterday? The day before?

No one knew exactly in what depths of Southern jungle the disease had started – not that anyone in the East, or the West for that matter, had cared. Later, it'd been agreed upon that a trader's ship from the South had brought several infected sailors even if they'd never found them or the ship in question. Since said sailors weren't shoving any signs of infection upon arriving they had been allowed on land.

Damien shrugged. They'd learned, far too late, to quarantine each and every ship. It'd caused many deaths as wave after wave of people fleeing from the epidemic that'd decimated the South's population had started to arrive at Eastern shores. There'd been violence against the southerners, and more deaths, before the police had been able to establish some resemblance of order.

Probably, the outbreak would've been less devastating hadn't the changes to the fae nearly hundred years ago rendered the centuries-long tradition of fae-centered Healing useless and thus the loss of fae-free methods and knowledge a tragedy. There had been books on biology, of course, Ernan and Terran likewise, but in a world where Healers could See right into their patients' bodies _with_ the fae no one had thought to record how to build devices to do so _without_.

Per trial and error, progress had been made, painfully and slowly, and mankind had survived the less violent plagues. This one, however... This could end human populace on Erna. _From my studies on Terran microorganisms,_ he dutifully wrote down and added the according pages in the book to his left for reference. Then he reconsidered, erasing two of the numbers and adding a cross-reference from the 'Journal of Experimental Biochemistry' instead. Before the epidemic, his focus had been on identifying and cataloging new microorganisms, including their different adaptations to the Ernan environment. Before the epidemic, those studies had made him less than popular among his colleagues. Afterward... Afterward was now, and now the only thing standing between this embodiment of an epidemiologist's worst nightmare and the rest of human population on Erna were a handful of scientists like himself, working in laboratories scattered across the East. And of his facility he was the last one left. Sander, the oldest and most experienced of them had been the first to die. Theodor had followed one week ago and Lianne simply hadn't showed up for work for three days straight. He didn't care whether she was dead or had fled. After all, she had two children, one year old twin girls, brown-haired and blue-eyed like their mother. She had to put them first, and if she'd found some place to go – well, good for her.

Another coughing fit made him feel like his lungs were filled with acid – a not so subtle reminder his time was running out. And he had nothing of it to spare on useless speculation. Now where was he again? Ah, Terran bacteria. _Especially seeing that this bacteria shows slower growth in standard agar medium as compared to a solution infused with human blood cells, my theory is that this isn't new but a disease from old Terra. The fact that there are no signs of infection in the rakhene populace seems to also point this way. The symptoms resemble a cross between virulent pulmonary tuberculosis and pneumococcus pneumonia, something that shouldn't be possible because my research indicates those microorganisms belonging to different phyla but is probably due to incorporation of Ernan genetic material. My serum takes this fact into account._ The pen slipped from his weak grip _._ He fought his body once more. Just one hour. He just needed one hour, maybe even less. He wasn't sure, however, if he did _have_ an hour. The decline to the pulmonary system may have started slow but in the last stages of the disease it usually progressed exponentially. Soon, his lungs wouldn't be able to maintain the oxygen level required for higher brain functions and he'd slip into a short coma from which he'd never wake. Until then, though, he needed to be working.

Unbidden, the fondest memory from his own childhood days drifted to the surface of his feverish brain, feeding his favorite illusion as it again flickered to life.

He'd been around five, still in the kindergarten when his scientist parents had moved to Jaggonath for a six-months project. He remembered a warm summer day and a huge park with trees and benches and green grass and a boy with large green eyes and floppy black hair. The other boy had shoved his hand into his slightly larger one and had dragged him off to the best places, showing him a bird's nest here and a pond with water lilies over there. The following two hours still were the happiest and the despair he'd felt when their respective parents had come and taken them both away still the deepest one in his life. He remembered his mother telling him once that he'd never been really devastated afterwards, no matter what happened, and knew she'd been right. It was as if the worst possible thing had already happened and nothing that came after could shake him. After his parents' deaths and finishing med school, he returned to Jaggonath and had spent every day of a long-month in the park, trying to find a young man with green eyes and floppy black hair. Then Asmody's newly founded Century Laboratories had offered him a job, and he'd accepted and tried to move on. He'd even managed a few relationships but his work was always priority number one and no girl- or boyfriend could ever compete.

Deep down, he'd always known his heart belonged to a laughing green-eyed, black-haired child from a memory long ago.

Then, the pandemic happened.

Again, a painful coughing fit scorched his lungs and brought him back to the present. He shook his head and peered into the microscope.

And for a minute or two, couldn't believe his eyes. The possibility of him hallucinating again wasn't that far off, after all. But the fever had dropped somewhat and he was feeling slightly better. Not that this was anything but a really bad sign. His body simply had stopped fighting the inevitable.

It still didn't change the facts before his very eyes. The ring-like colony had stopped growing after the addition of his serum. Someday, he believed, there would be microscopes fine enough to see single bacteria separately but right now the colony's dead brown instead of pale, poisonous yellowish white told him enough.

Now came the difficult part: he had to check and double-check his notes to make absolutely sure his successor was able to understand each single step. He wrote down ingredients and measures, and outlined briefly the differences from the previous, useless, serum. He put carefully numbered samples into the fridge, double-sealing its door, then switched off the microscope.

His notes in as perfect order as he could make them, he then called the SeylenLab in Mordreth. When no one answered –and considering the bright afternoon sun outside it didn't bode well–, he tried the university's research labs in Sheva, then one of his friends in Faraday. When his call was answered and he was sure someone would be able to come and collect his research, and continue his work, he reclined in his chair completely, pushed it away from the desk and tipped his head back, thus locking his body in place, making sure it wouldn't tumble down upon dying and damage his precious notes and equipment in the process.

He was so, so tired.

Closing his eyes, he allowed a sun-warmed dream full of laughter, green grass and equally green eyes to claim him.

_FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> Extra Notes:  
> 1) Not as long as I first intended but it shows the moment I imagined when writing 'Karma' just nicely. I did warn you about the sad part, now didn't I?


End file.
